Behind the shadows of the soul: prologue
by Casualis
Summary: Never do tomorrow what you may do today because one never knows what life reserves him. Warning: slash Elrohir/Legolas
1. notes and warnings

~ Behind the shadows of soul: Prologue ~  
  
Author: Casualis  
  
Disclaimer: they are not mine, except in my crazy dreams.  
  
Pairings: Elrohir/ Legolas  
  
Warnings:  
  
That story is slash. The prologue had also implications of NCS, nothing graphic nonetheless. It has no happy ending, but the arc will have a happy  
end, I swear. And, yes, also a character death.  
  
Notes:  
  
This is the prologue of an arc I intend to write. There will be eight or  
ten parts, I don't know yet. I'm not a native writer, so constructive criticism will be eagerly welcomed. You may have ever read the first part of this prologue at the LOM. It was presented for the April's challenge.  
  
Thanks to Caz for beta-reading the first part and to Lyric for beta-reading the second part. I don't know what I would have done without these ladies'  
help.  
  
As I'm a strange girl, the prologue is not exactly the beginning of the story, nor exactly the end, it's taken from the middle of the whole arc.  
The prologue will have two parts. The first part of the arc will be  
published when my beta will have finished. 


	2. It's all over

"For of all sad words of tongue or pen,  
  
The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"  
  
John Greenleaf Whittier "Maud Muller"  
  
*  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
There is a sound in my head, just as if an army of dwarves was walking on my skull, jumping in rhythm.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
The place is dark. Darker than the deeps of the Moria. Darker than Mordor itself. I don't know where I am. The only thing I'm aware of is that I wish to be dead.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
How long now since I entered this cave? Hours? Days? Months? Or maybe years? I have no idea. Truly.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
It's strange; I can't feel my body anymore. But it's better like that. I don't feel pain. The only thing I'm conscious of is my head banging on the stone wall, in rhythm with its thrusts.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
This perpetual knock on the top on my skull is very unpleasant. I wish I could feel nothing at all. I wish to be a golden bird, free to fly to you, to whisper sweet words in your ear. But I cannot and I will never be a bird. So, I wish to be dead, to escape from this place, from these. things.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Honestly, I thought I would have died. It's a common thing to say that abused elves do not linger on Arda. Well. Maybe it was just a tale. I never saw anyone coming from Mandos Halls to explain me in details how long it takes for an elven spirit to leave its body. Never.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I am a dead corpse with a very alive spirit. It's disturbing. Very disturbing. I wish I could also stop thinking. Because my heart becomes very painful when I think of you. Because I will never be able to see you again. Because the last words I have spoken to you were harsh, and I didn't mean them.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Because I love you and I will never be able to touch you again.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
If my father could see me here and now.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Sweet Elbereth, I cannot imagine how horrified he would be. His son fucked in a cave, his hands bound, covered by blood. And, horror of horrors, fucked by . that. It's absolutely not regal. Once, before being a dead corpse with a very alive wit, I was a prince of Mirkwood, third son of King Thranduil, himself son of Oropher, the one who died in the war against Sauron many millennia ago.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
If one could see me now, they would never guess that I was once a creature of light and nature, and that many people thought me to be one of the most beautiful beings that have ever walked on Arda. I can't blame the ones who do not guess. There is no part of me left untouched. My skin, once pale and glowing, is covered by bruises, scratches, blood and dirt. Well. At least, where my skin remains.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I would laugh if I could.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
The ropes, which bound my wrists, are tearing up my flesh with horrible noises of rubbing. I know that, if I could feel anything else than this unnerving knock, I would feel blood dripping down the length of my arms. Sometimes, the groans of the foul beast on the top of me reach my ears.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I wish to be dead, but I'm not. Is it normal?  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I can do nothing to defend myself. My body didn't even respond to me when the first one forced himself upon me. I felt his hard cock enter me in a harsh thrust. I felt the pain invade my very being, chasing the air from my lungs, tearing me into tiny pieces. I saw the world becoming a single little red point dancing in front of my eyes. I felt the urge to scream but no sound came from my dried throat. Then, I couldn't see anymore, I couldn't feel anymore. Except for my head banging on the wall.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I'm still there. I can still hear some noises. But they seem to be very, very far from me. Or maybe, I am very, very far from my body, floating above all of those present in that place. It's an odd feeling. I am somewhere, but I don't know where. I'm not alive. I'm not dead. The only word that comes to my mind now is: strange. Disconcerting, also.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I am going to die. A part of me wants to embrace this fate with joy as a release. But another part doesn't want to. It wants to see you one last time, to tell you those words I didn't dare to say to you.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
A part of me doesn't want to die and won't accept the fatality of that death. A part of me still hopes that this scene is only a horrible nightmare, and that you would wake me up and comfort me with kisses.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
The other part of me doesn't want you to find me like this. It doesn't want you to have this image in your eyes when you think of me. It prefers to know that you will hate me forever for what I told you before leaving, rather than pitying me.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I don't want you to see me in pain. I don't want you to see my battered and bloody body. I don't want you to remember me as a broken corpse and a violated soul. So much different than when we met.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Do you remember the first time we met, my love? I was a messenger for my father. I came to Imladris to deliver an urgent message to the lord of this realm, your father. I had met some orcs, and even though they were not very skilful and I had managed to kill all of them, I was injured. Not a big injury, merely a deep gash on my upper arm, but your father, Lord Elrond, ordered me to stay there until healed. A servant led me to the Last Homely House, the part of house where wounded are taken care of. That's where our paths crossed for the first time.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Do you remember it, my love ? You were lying on a bed, your brother sitting next to you. I will never forget your gaze upon me. Your eyes. Most people say that it's impossible to distinguish one Peredhel twin from the other. But even at this first sight, I have seen how mistaken they were. Your eyes were different. In them burnt a fire that did not exist in your brother's, and I was trapped by it. The world didn't exist anymore. Only the heat spreading in my whole body mattered. I was drowning myself in your gaze and I think I could have died at that moment if one of the healers had not broken the spell  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Do you remember? I have loved you since that very moment.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
The foul beast has left; my head doesn't bang on the wall anymore. Silence. But I know it won't be long until another takes its place.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
What was I saying? Not long.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I wish I could kill them for what they have done. I wish to hear their screams, just as they have heard mine. But I am not stupid. And I know I will soon join my mother in Mandos Halls. The sounds are fading away from me. It may be that my senses are becoming dull.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I won't be long. It must not.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I'm sad to give up so easily. I'm sad because you will never know how much I loved you. I'm sad because I never said I love you. People call this regret.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
We became friends. Not matter when, no matter how. We became friends. I often came to bring my king's message to your father. You often did the same. One of those nights I spent in the vale, we became lovers. It doesn't matter when, it doesn't matter how. We became lovers.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
We were lying on the grass of your father's private gardens, gazing at the stars in the sky, speaking of old legends and of old tales. I don't why, I don't know how, but at one moment, we were staring at each other, our breaths quickened. And then, we kissed. For the first time. Our lips met each other's. For the first time. Our fingers twinned. For the first time. Our tongues played together. For the first time. Do you remember?  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Do you remember the polite cough that ended that first kiss? Do you remember your father's impassive features when he advised us to continue this conversation in one of our rooms? At that very moment you were of an interesting shade of red.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I never told you how important you were to me. When we made love, you would whisper sweet words in my ear. But I, never. I only cried your name when I was at the edge of pleasure. Each time, it was a victory, a way to inform the whole world that, you, Elrohir Peredhel, were mine and mine only. And you never asked for more.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I know what you must be thinking now. I never said to you how much I loved you and I know that after our last discussion, you believe I had you for the fun. But it's not true. It's not true.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I know I hurt you every time I didn't answer your words of love. I saw it in the depths of your eyes. Each time the silence echoed your murmurs, shadows of pain were floating in them.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Not so long ago, a message came from Mirkwood. I don't know how, but my father had learnt about us. No need to say that he was not delighted. He ordered me to come back home. He didn't understand love between two males. And you, you didn't understand his reaction. I tried to explain to you that all fathers were not as understanding as yours. Your father had loved Gil- Galahad; mine thought that a prince should marry a maiden and breed a lot of children. But you still did not understand, did you?  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I was torn between two loyalties. Between a father that never understood me, and a lover that I couldn't stop hurting. But I was a prince of Mirkwood before being your Greenleaf. The choice was not mine to make. So, I left. You didn't understand, did you?  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
You didn't understand and we spoke words that hurt. We said things that we didn't mean. We denied all that was ours, we denied ourselves and our unspoken love. I will never forgive myself for aiming at your heart words that strike as sharpened arrows. I saw how you tried not to let your tears run. Your eyes were as many blades in my chest when I left.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I left, without looking at you one last time, without telling you that I loved you more than life itself, without knowing that it would be the last time I ever saw you.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I wish you could forgive me one day. I love you. I love you so much.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I didn't dare to tell you my feelings because I was afraid to lose myself in you. My father had deeply loved my mother. You know, he was not always the bitter elf he is now. Once he was loving and patient. But when my mother died, this part of him disappeared. I refused to let anyone approach because I was afraid to become like him. I was afraid that, if one day you would leave me, you would destroy me. How wrong I was.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I would laugh if I could. Am I going mad?  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
It may be better like that. If you hate me, you won't grieve too much. I know I'm lying. Even if I hurt you, you would not stop loving me. I have seen it in your eyes, hidden behind the shadows. Your eyes were to me as an opened window on your soul. They didn't know how to lie.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Yes, it's better this way. When you will think of me, you won't see what I have become. You won't see me as a pitiful and weak creature. I hate what they have done to me. They surprised me in the forest. They were too many, I tried too fight, but was soon overwhelmed. When the darkness took me, one single thought was in my mind: I had failed those I loved. Failed my father, failed you.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I thought I was dead, but then I woke up in this dark place, full of shadows and cries. I thought I was dead, but I was not. I would rather be. The dark beasts have not only taken my body, but they have also taken my pride, my soul. I had screamed and asked them to stop. I tried to endure. But I couldn't. I tried to be strong, in memory of those who had suffered in their hands, but I was not. I cried and I have never felt so ashamed.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
The bite of their whips was as if thousands of snakes were on me at the same moment. My body was not mine anymore, it belonged to someone else. Whispers escaped my lips before I could hold them back, then groans came from my throat. When I screamed for the first time, I didn't know it was me who was yelling. I didn't recognize my own voice. To me, it was the sound of a mad animal.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Who could know that in this place, even the air burns your lungs? Who could know that the teethes of orcs in elven flesh are like a poison in your whole body? Who could know that when they use their iron brand, orcs are like babies with new toys; they can never get enough. They did things I would never think possible. I discovered resistance to a pain that runs through all your body. I discovered that suffering could be overwhelming and exquisite. That when you had reached a certain level, nothing mattered.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I don't want you to see me like this. I don't want you to remember me as the one who used you for his own pleasure. I want you to remember me in the sweet moments we shared. Remember the first time we made love. Remember how you loved my fingers on your skin, my lips on yours, my body next to yours. Remember how you craved my touch. Remember the groans you made when I was playing with your body, as a musician with his instrument, my mouth on your elfhood, like his fingers on the strings.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
Remember when you woke up in my arms, when you listened to my heartbeat, like to the most beautiful music. Remember the laughs and forget the tears. Remember what is worth to be remembered.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
But I know you can't hear me, just as I can't hear anything now. If I could go back in time and make other choices, I would. If I could just tell you how much I loved you, my death would be less bitter.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
The end is approaching. I know I should have no regrets, but it's too late. Maybe we will meet again and have another chance. Perhaps Mandos will be merciful.  
  
'One. Two. Three.'  
  
I'm floating in a silent universe, where nothing reaches my senses. It will soon be over. My love, my sweet love. If I could tell you. But it's all over now. It's all over. It's all over. 


	3. Some days in your life

"Footfalls echo in the memory  
  
Down the passage which we did not take  
  
Towards the door we never opened Into the rose-garden."  
  
T. S. Eliot  
  
*  
  
Some days in your life, you may wish to be born heartless, because a heart is a fragile little thing, which can break as easily as a crystal glass. Today is one of those days. I can feel my heart pounding furiously in my chest, as an untamed colt running in the forest. It hurts. It hurts so much.  
  
Some days in your life, you may wish to have never known love, because love is not the wonderful feeling described in songs or poems and awaited by generations of blushing maidens. Love is the only thing that can destroy your pitiful and breakable heart. Today is one of those days. My heart is aching because of what is supposed to be the most wonderful feeling in one's life.  
  
Some days in your life, you may wish to be forgotten by the rest of the world. To be left alone. With no one to witness your break down, with no one to see the tears gathering in your eyes, with no one to see them dripping down. Today is one of those days. I only crave for the touch of loneliness, praying for the silence to overwhelm me.  
  
But I am not alone, and will never be so. I can feel his presence somewhere in one of the highest trees. I can feel itches in my neck whenever he looks at me. He is a shadow of my pain. I know he is distressed because of my behaviour. As always, if I would wish to, I could feel his feelings. Once, I used this knowledge to soothe him. But not today. Today is not a day I can comfort others. Today is not a day I can help anyone, including myself.  
  
He is my twin. I should be able to let him help me, to let him get close. But I can't. Simply, I can't. This pain is mine to bear; this burden is not to be shared. It was meant for my shoulders, not his.  
  
I look up at the sky. The blue color turns to a light shade of purple. Long red belts of clouds cross the horizon. Soon, it will be night. Suddenly realization strikes me. Sweet Elbereth, one more time I have spent all day here. I usually come here to see the dawn. I sit every day on the same root, where he used to sit when we watched the sunrise together. I sit down at the same place he sat, my hands roaming over the grass he used to caress. And there, while the sun chases the darkness away, I close my eyes and let the memories come back to me. It's the only place where I can do that, the only place I feel myself sheltered from the world.  
  
I have to get up quickly, but I don't want to. I have missed dinnertime once more. And one more time, when I get in the house, I will be welcomed by their quiet and affectionate gazes. They never say anything. They know me too well to try to comfort me with words. But I can't stand their eyes, full of pity and understanding, which remind me that I'm not supposed to be well. They see through me, through the shell I have erected between others and me. Even if I can fool most people, I will never be able to lie to them. They have known me for millennia; they always were the shelter in which I could seek refuge when the storm was nearing.  
  
Ada. Elladan. Glorfindel. Erestor. The four pillars of my life since Nana's departure.  
  
I have tried to avoid them, but they do not let me be. They often speak of me. They think I'm not aware, but I'm not stupid. I am able to interpret the silence that arises when I enter the place where they are speaking. They are attentive and affectionate, but they refuse me the only thing I want: Loneliness. I hate them for that. They do not understand that the swift glances they exchange when they think I will not notice are worse than explicit comfort words.  
  
I don't want to see them anymore. I feel guilty for this childish reaction, but I don't know how to react otherwise. I don't want to see any people tonight and I may stay on this tree root all night long. On his tree root. I may stay here, close my eyes and claim that my dreams are real. I know that my father will be scared and that Elladan will stay to watch after me, but I don't want to leave this place, this tree. The world outside is too cruel, it reminds me of what has been and what will never be anymore. While, here, I can still pretend that nothing has happened, that he is still with me.  
  
I don't want to go into the house. I don't wish to enter my room, to sleep in this bed where we used to make love. I don't want to see the sunlight roaming over the empty sheets near me when once I saw it caressing, almost lovingly, his soft skin. I don't want to look at the desk where he wrote letters to his father and king to explain the results of some council with mine. I don't want to see the place where we were so happy.  
  
I can't stand my memories anymore. I don't want to think of the past; I would like to erase it, to make a new start. But I know I cannot. How could I forget the past when I have no future?  
  
I feel the caress of the wind on my cheek and I close my eyes to pretend that his fingers are on my face. I don't dare to open them, lest the illusion might disappear. The illusion of his presence.  
  
When he was here, we often spent days in the forest bordering Imladris, enjoying the song of the birds and the rustlings of the leaves. I'm no wood elf; I had never had a deep bond with nature because of the human blood running through my veins. But he taught me how to enjoy the simple pleasure of the whispering of the trees. I still do not discern what they say, but now I understand what one could seek in their songs: the quiet comfort of a sweet cocoon, the mere illusion to walk in a world where time has no grasp, the promise of the Heavens.  
  
Elladan has moved. I can hear him. His footsteps are light, just as those of all the Firstborn. If he was not my brother and if I didn't know he would come and try to convince me to go back home, I would never have heard him. But he is my twin and we share a deep connection. At least, we used to. I know he is approaching because each time I stay here too long, he comes to me. It's a ritual between us now. He will put his hand on my shoulder, I will not level my gaze, and he will ask me if I'm well.  
  
"Are you well brother?"  
  
What do I say? As usual, I only nod. I don't want to speak, even if he is my twin, my brother, and my best friend.Maybe because of that. I truly wish to scream my anguish, to tell him that my whole existence is drowning in the depths of depression, to say to him that a part of me is missing and will never come back, that my heart is torn in tiny pieces. But I don't scream. I don't even speak. I simply nod my consent. I know he is no fool, but as long as he accepts my lies, I don't care.  
  
"You should go back home."  
  
Second usual sentence. I hear myself answering him:  
  
"I should."  
  
I always say the same thing. And every time, it seems to me that this voice is not mine. I hear the light whisper that escapes his lips. He doesn't know how to react, so he will go back. Alone. Just like that. He will be able to speak of me with Ada, Erestor and Glorfindel. They will be able to discuss quietly about my desperate case. I don't mind. I should, but I don't. Nothing matters because he is not here.  
  
I never thought I would suffer so much. I never thought that pain could be so whole and consuming. I have never felt so lost, even when we found Nana in the hands of the orcs, even when Ada announced to us that she would leave for the Undying Lands, even when she bade us farewell with a last kiss. At that moment of my life, I thought that no one could suffer more than I did. I was terribly mistaken. The pain is worse nowadays. I don't know why. Yet, it's the same feeling of guilt, the same bitterness under my tongue, the same ache in my heart, but it's worse today than in the past.  
  
It's my fault. My fault. I hide my head in my hands, just as afraid to face a truth I'm not prepared to acknowledge. I don't want to follow the train of my thoughts. But I know I have little choice left. I can't help being guilty. I cannot stop it. It's in my mind and I know it will always be there.  
  
What may be the worse in this story is that I already know the end of it. I won't die. No, I won't. Because I'm a survivor. I will survive to whatever befalls on me, a product of my human blood, no doubt. I will survive physically, but I will never be the same again. I know how this will end. A sword in one hand, a knife in the other, and my bow on my back, I will kill those who destroyed my soul one more time. I will hunt the beasts of Sauron until there is no more left or until I die. I have a lot of time. I am immortal.  
  
I hate orcs. I have never met any elf with sympathy for those beasts. It's a common thing for many of us to have disdain for them. But, when the path of the Firstborn crosses the path of Sauron's creations, they kill them with a sense of pity that is alien to me. I'm no surgeon. I do not try to spare my movements or to spare them the agony. I want to hear their screams, I want them to suffer, I want them to agonize. The cry of a tortured orc is the sweetest music to my ears. I know that many people do not understand the fury that runs in my blood and in my brother's. But those ones have not seen those they love destroyed both physically and mentally by those things.  
  
Orcs had stolen my mother to me. Now, they have taken my lover. Who will be next?  
  
It's my fault. If I had traveled with her to 'Lorien, Nana would be still with us today. If I had been a little bit more understanding and did not fight with him, he would have been less carefree and they would not have taken him.  
  
It's my fault. I was not the lover he needed me to be. He needed me to be patient and understanding. And I was not. I tried. I swear I tried. But I couldn't. I know he loved me in his own way. He was afraid. Afraid to love. Afraid to let anyone see through his shell. I hoped to be the one whom he would let see his heart. I almost succeeded. Almost. But now, he is dead, and I will never be able to make him understand that there is nothing to be afraid of.  
  
He was a prince, and I didn't understand how he could take his duty so seriously. How he could let his father come between us. How he could give up so easily, without even fighting. Where he needed to be supported, he only found incomprehension and . disdain.  
  
I knew the first time I saw him that he was different from others I had known. All in him screamed this difference: his regal attitude, the way he looked at you without seeing you, his air of superiority, his tall and lithe body which spoke of hours of training, his cerulean eyes clouded with something indefinable. In him, all was alien, but also familiar. Wherever he went, everyone was stunned by his beauty. When he entered a room, silence was often made. He was the very son of Anar walking on Arda, a soul gifted by the Valar. He was light where others were shadows. He was ethereal where they were merely earthly. He was clever where they were stupid and surprising where they boring.  
  
But that's not what made me love him. It was not the light in him that caught my eye, but, on the contrary, the shadow that sometimes clouded him. It took me time to read the truth hidden behind the facade, to discover that his laugh concealed a great sadness and most of all, a great fear. Fear to see anyone truly knowing him. Fear to love and to be loved.  
  
It took him time and efforts to accept me as a friend and as a lover. We fought often, I to destroy his shell, he to protect it. It was difficult, but he was worth of it. Each part of him discovered made me love him more, because they were hardly won.  
  
I was immediately attracted to him. I don't know if it was love at first sight, but one day when I looked at him, I found myself craving to bury my hands in his golden mane and to kiss his fears away. But I failed.  
  
I failed.  
  
I failed him as I had failed Naneth. And at the same time, I failed myself. I didn't keep my vow. The vow I made to always love him and never give him a reason to doubt my feelings for him.  
  
I tried to be strong-hearted. I always told him how much I loved him. I called him my love, my heart, my life. I tried to be generous where he was selfish. I was very aware that he loved me in his silent manner. Without telling himself what he was truly feeling. I knew, because if he didn't love me, he would not have stood my sweet words and my promises of eternal love. If he didn't love me, he would not let me see parts of him that no one had ever seen before. He loved me.In his own way.  
  
But only one, who has lived through the same experience, is able to tell how difficult it is. How the perpetual denial of your tenderness can be hopeless. How the silence can be defeating. I thought I was strong enough to ignore the waves of despair. But I was wrong.  
  
The heart has secrets that the reason ignores. I knew in my very being that he loved me. But it was not enough. My heart longed for tender words that were refused to me. I couldn't stand this situation anymore. I tried, but I failed.  
  
When the message came, he left. Oh, we discussed this together, but, whatever my opinion could be, his was taken. He had to leave. There was no arguing. He had to leave. At this very moment, I made the mistake, the one thing I will never forgive myself for doing. I let him leave on the certitude that 'us' meant nothing at all. That I thought I was a good fuck for him, nothing more. I said words I regret now. I said to him that I never wanted to see him again. I don't know how I could tell that. Now, I don't want anything else than him next to me on this very root.  
  
He left and he will never come back. The orcs took him in the path between Imladris and Mirkwood. He fought bravely, but he fell. They brought him to a cave, far from the stars he loved. He died there, overwhelmed by the darkness, tortured by orcs, which didn't even deserve to live.  
  
He spent one week in their hands before Mirkwood warriors found him. One week in the hands of Sauron's minions. The news of his death reached Imladris one week ago. One week ago, my world changed. And it has changed forever. I will never be the same again. Because death took my lover.  
  
I would give everything I own to have him back to me. I would give my life if it was possible. But I know he will not come back. I know I will never hear his laugh again. I know I will never be able to touch his skin. I know I will never be allowed to keep my promise. I will never hear him telling me the words I have sought to hear. He will never tell me that he loves me.  
  
Some days in your life, you would rather be dead than be aware of the world around you. Today is one of those days. Each day of the past week has been one of those days. Each day has been a step toward the acceptance of the truth and a step toward the death of my heart.  
  
I know I will survive because I am a survivor. I am an eternal survivor. My heart may be dying a little more every day, but I will never forget. I will never forgive. Neither myself nor the orcs. I will avenge his death. I swear it. I didn't keep the previous promise I made to myself, but this one.I will keep it. I swear.  
  
My heart is dying and I didn't care. It's better this way. To love is to be weak, to be fragile. I understand him now. But it's too late. He's gone.  
  
The end.  
  
Many thanks to those who take the time to review this story. It was very very nice.  
  
Part one of the arc, In your eyes, will be published as soon as my beta will have finished. 


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